Snowfall
by silvermoonstone23
Summary: There was no way to capture Black, mostly because he didn't want to be captured. He kept every important moment on a record in his mind, unafraid of letting the little victories slip away to be replaced by better memories. {Agencyshipping, one-shot, a holiday present for SilverMoonlight21!}


_A/N: Two stories in one day..._

_Happy holidays! This story is dedicated to a good pal of mine, SilverMoonlight21, otherwise known as Silver or Moon (we even have similar names!) She is extremely fabulous &amp; funny, and I forgot to write her up a birthday story even though I found out when her birthday was, so...I scrapped this together!_

_Silver, I hope you like this &amp; have a wonderful holiday!_

_The same to the rest of you. May your days be merry and bright, no matter what holiday you celebrate! (At least this story is wintry...) It's sort of a real-world AU._

_Rant over! Read on!  
-Silvia_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon or anything else**

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**Snowfall**

Life was measured in moments.

White had known this ever since she was young. And since that time, it had been her mission to capture these moments. To hunt them down with her butterfly net, to catch them and keep them in a jar like glowing fireflies. Glowing moments, glowing hearts. She was in elementary school when she received a camera and began clicking away at everything, not wanting to lose a moment. She made neat, charming scrapbooks of everything she captured. As she moved on, as the years passed, she found that she was purposely catching only good memories, never the bad ones. But she never forgot any heartache, or humiliation, or fury. That she tucked into her heart, which sometimes felt dark with its weight. She refused to keep it in her jar, in her books, in her mind, though, where she would always have to look at it.

Cameras, pictures, paintings, videos, memories, stories. Writing. Songs, stories, poems, dramas. White loved a good tale. Perhaps her affinity for frozen, petrified moments of joy was what led her to stories. Especially in the form of theater, where she could film or watch them, or read them over and over. She reigned president of the drama club in high school, majored in arts in college. She produced, directed, acted, wrote. She could be so lost in stories, so lost in the suspended memories of make-believe lives that she sometimes forgot her own.

But she eventually learned to bloom. Even despite her faults, she made friends and made even more memories with them. Life balanced with the collecting of moments. It was something she excelled in.

That is, until Black.

There was no way to capture him. Not in a fable; the words didn't fit him. Not in a poem or song; the verses didn't fall right. Not in a drama; no one could portray him. Not in a painting; none of her brushes could quite perfect the shape of his nose, his eyes, his unruly hair. Not in a film or photograph; he was always moving, always blurry, always tearing the cameras from her hands to drag her on some wild adventure.

Sometimes, he frustrated her. Sometimes, she was frightened at how wholly and wildly her heart had fallen deeply in love with him.

Black was everything that she was not. He was everything she had never wanted. He was spontaneous and messy, but he was hilarious and caring and for _her. _He wanted no one else. He had given himself to her on a rainy summer day beneath an umbrella with three words: _"I love you."_ She was met with a feeling like she was falling through the open air: the feeling that she had given herself to him. She returned his words with every ounce of adoration she held.

White could not capture Black, mostly because he didn't want to be captured. He kept every important moment on a record in his mind, unafraid of letting the little victories slip away to be replaced by better memories.

"Do you remember how we met?" he asked her one chilly winter day as snow periodically cast flurries around them. Snowflakes were caught in his eyelashes. They were bundled tightly, skidding across an ice rink positioned at the centre of the city's square. In the city's heart of hearts, there were their two hearts.

White liked snow. It was a lot like memories; snowflakes could not be physically captured for long, each one was different and special, and many were forever forgotten.

She covered her face with her mittens. "Don't remind me!"

"It was right here." He pulled her hands from her face and held them, dragging her along as he skated backwards. "Right in this square, next to the skating rink. Over a year ago, can you believe it! I fell over and broke your phone, and you made me buy you another."

"And then you bought me coffee too, as an apology." She smiled.

"And because I thought you were adorable." He pecked her cheek affectionately.

"Did you bring me here just to reminisce?" she asked, with a little giggle. His breaking her cell phone was probably the best luck she'd ever had. She'd had boyfriends and friends who were boys before. But when he'd taken her to get coffee on that very first day, talking animatedly about himself and the first things that popped into his head, totally unabashed, she was filled with the overwhelming desire to know him. White hadn't immediately loved him, or even want to date him, and yet she wanted to learn more about him. It was only later, after she'd known him for some time, after he'd befriended some of her friends and proved himself worthy, that she was filled with a foreign feeling of _please don't love someone else, please see me the way that I see you._ And he did see her.

But now, his eyes were distant. "I actually…I brought you here to tell you something. But it can wait 'till we're finished skating."

White tried to ignore the unusually serious tone in his voice as they continued on, but she couldn't. She wondered over and over, like a broken record, if this would be another dark and dismal memory. She got her answer after they took their skates off and began walking from the ice rink.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore," Black said.

_No, _she thought. He couldn't do this to her. She trusted him; she thought he had always been honest with her. She needed him, she loved him, he knew this.

"I can't live like this anymore. I—I can't be your boyfriend anymore."

She felt the tears start to spill down her cheeks. With anyone else, she would have hid them, but this was Black. He knew everything about her. There was just no use disguising this from him. She gave him her heart long before, knowing fully well that he could break it. And here he was, throwing her glass heart—that had seemed so protected within his grasp—onto the floor. It would shatter and she would be broken.

But instead, it was he who sunk to the ground.

Onto one knee.

Her eyes widened so much that it hurt, the cold air stinging them. She watched, the world blurry through her teary eyes, as Black reached into his pocket, saying, "I can't just be your boyfriend anymore. I want to spend my life with you, White. I want to be with you forever and always."

He rummaged around in his pockets, frowning. Then, his face was transformed by realisation. "Dammit, I think I actually left the ring at home…but, White, will you—?"

White dropped to her knees and nearly tackled him in an embrace. "Of course, you idiot!"

Snow drifted around them. Their knees were frozen and scratched by the time they stood, walking along the decorated streets hand-in-hand.

There was no way to capture this crystalline moment without fracturing its glass surface, but she didn't care. She would remember it forevermore.


End file.
